


Don't Look Back

by quesera



Series: Home [2]
Category: Chicago PD (TV)
Genre: Gen, Post Season 4
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-23
Updated: 2018-09-23
Packaged: 2019-07-16 07:47:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,320
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16081661
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quesera/pseuds/quesera
Summary: No matter how hard she tried, she couldn't stop herself.





	Don't Look Back

**Author's Note:**

> This story is a sequel/companion piece to 'I’m Fine.' While that story was a look at Jay’s life post-Erin/4x23, this is all about Erin.

_They told me in no uncertain terms, they’re coming after you… don’t look back._

Hank’s words repeated on a loop in Erin’s head as she stood on that bridge, the skyline of the only city she’d ever known staring right back at her. She shivered; maybe from the cold, but more likely from thinking about the mess her life had become. It felt like just yesterday she was blissfully happy, working her dream job, sharing her home— _and her life_ —with the man she loved. Everything had been so perfect.

Until it wasn’t.

First her father—or, as it turned out,  _not_  her father—came back into the picture. Then they learned that Jay was  _married_  and he packed his bags and left. That damn case with that poor little boy and that sick twisted monster just became too much and she just snapped. And Bunny’s latest bullshit was the cherry on top, the last piece of the puzzle that destroyed her. Just like that, it was all gone.

Erin’s phone started to ring then, snapping her away from her thoughts. Before even glancing at the caller ID she knew who it was. There was only one person it could be.  _Him_. She hit ignore and it almost killed her; there was literally nothing in the world that she craved more in that moment than to pick up, to hear his voice on the other end, to fall into him and feel the peace and security of his arms.

She didn’t want to, but she knew she had to. Because if she had answered? If she’d heard his voice, heard him say her name in that way that only he could, like every letter meant the world to him? There was nothing that could have held her back from him. And that wouldn’t have been fair to anyone. So instead Erin stood there, alone with only the lights of Chicago—her city, her home, her world—bearing witness to her anguish. Could she really leave it all behind? Could she really leave  _him_  behind?

And then her phone rang again. Of course it was him. Somehow it felt easier to hit ignore this time; because by then she knew her answer. She had to leave,  _she had to_. It was the best thing for everyone. Because if she stayed, she would have no job, no purpose, just  _him_. He would truly be everything to her. And that thought was terrifying. Erin Lindsay was not a person who could depend on another so much; she knew how quickly  _everything_  could become  _nothing_. And she couldn’t go back to nothing.

What was that saying?  _If you love something, set it free_? That’s exactly what she was doing, freeing Jay. Freeing him from the mess that her life would always be, from the dark clouds of her past, from all of the mistakes she had made, and all of the mistakes she would continue to make. Because as much as she’d grown, as hard as she’d tried, she was still Bunny Fletcher’s daughter—and you can never truly escape your past.

As much as she craved it, she knew there was no future for them. She’d been kidding herself before—there was no way a man like Jay Halstead could possibly imagine spending his life with someone like  _her_. He was everything good, and she was bad news; always had been, always would be. So this was the best thing; he would get over her and find someone more deserving of him and his beautiful heart. He could do so much better, and this was her way of giving that to him.

Erin looked back at Chicago one more time. One  _last_  time.

And then she left.

* * *

The drive to New York was long—more than twelve hours. Erin drove straight through the night, only stopping twice to fill the gas tank. She couldn’t bring herself to eat anything; she felt empty enough already, she figured she may as well keep it that way.

It certainly would have been faster,  _easier_  to fly. But she had figured it would be pretty hard to pack her entire life into a carry-on bag or a couple of suitcases. Turns out she was wrong about that, too. Erin didn’t take much from their— _her_ —apartment; she grabbed only the most important things, a few photos, a couple of books, those band posters she loved so much. She left everything else. It all reminded her of  _him_ ; it still hurt to think about watching him pack his bags, even while she was packing her own to leave that life behind for good.

Erin spent those long hours driving down the highway alone with her thoughts. She tried to focus on the future, on the opportunity that was waiting for her, on the good she would be doing for her country. All the while fighting herself from getting lost in thoughts of the past. Doing everything she could to stop thinking about him, to heed Hank’s advice. When she’d first nodded in response to those words, she had no idea how difficult it would be.

So she compromised with herself. She would allow herself to think about the past and about what she was leaving behind and about  _him_. But only until her headlights illuminated that first sign telling her that she was in New York. Then that would be it; she would force herself to move forward— _don’t look back_.

* * *

It was early morning when Erin arrived in the city; she drove through the chaotic traffic to the only address she knew. The moment Olivia Benson opened the door, Erin fell into the older woman’s arms, the weight of reality suddenly overwhelming her, becoming too much for her to handle.

If Olivia had been surprised to see her, she certainly didn’t show it. Erin later learned that Hank had called her; he’d wanted there to be someone in New York for his pseudo-daughter to turn to—she’d already been alone enough to last a lifetime. Olivia set Erin up on the pull-out couch in her office. It wasn’t much, but it was comfortable enough for her to catch some shut-eye; exhaustion was written all over her face.

Somehow, Erin managed to sleep for a few hours. She was surprised to discover that it was already early afternoon when she woke. She suddenly sprang into action—she had only been given a few days to get everything settled before starting her new job. Agent Spencer had put Erin in contact with a real estate company who could help her find a furnished place close to headquarters.

Erin was nervous as she dialed the number, perhaps realizing that she was making a phone call that would truly set her new life in motion. That one phone call would start the chain of events that would leave Chicago behind her for good, officially making New York City her home. Somehow she pushed through, briefly speaking with an unpleasant woman and jotted down the address where she was to meet the broker.

* * *

The downtown apartment building was slick and modern, right in the hustle and bustle of the city. She was greeted by a doorman who ushered her into the swanky lobby. Erin felt so out of place, surrounded by glass and chrome and everything different from her cozy walk-up back in Chicago. She suddenly found herself longing for her old place; she missed it so much it was painful.

“Erin Lindsay?” A deep voice tore her from her thoughts. Erin turned and nodded at the man standing in front of her, forcing a hint of a smile on her face. She surveyed him briefly: he was older, but he would certainly be considered good-looking, tall with warm brown eyes that felt like they were boring into her. “I’m Henry Quinn, you spoke with my assistant earlier? Ready to check this place out?”

Somehow Erin found her voice, “Yes, yeah. That would be great.”

They rode the elevator in silence. Erin could feel his eyes on her the entire time. She supposed in another life she might have been attracted to him, but in this moment she was just uncomfortable. She barely glanced around the apartment before yanking out her chequebook and telling him that she would take it. She just wanted— _needed_ —to get out of there as fast as possible.

* * *

The next few days moved at lightning speed. Her personal belongings were few and far between, which made settling into her new place easy; settling in to her new job was a whole other challenge. Erin’s last dalliance with the FBI was similar in many ways, yet this somehow felt completely different. Despite all of the politics and all of the hoops they had to jump through, it was clear that this was a department that was actually making a real impact on their country. It was easy for Erin to slide into her new role, doing something she truly felt great about.

Agent Spencer gave Erin a tour of the offices, first pointing her in the direction of the coffee machine and the break room—those would be her lifelines in combatting the long hours they would inevitably be clocking—before showing her to her desk. Not just her desk, her  _office_. She would be sharing the space with her new partner, but it still felt exhilarating to have an office. It helped the importance of her job to really sink in.

Erin was left alone there to make herself comfortable—as comfortable as possible in the high heels and pantsuit she had never imagined she’d be wearing again. Moments later she was joined by another person; his presence had startled her at first, but Erin quickly rose from her desk and strode across the room, extending her hand to him, “Hi, I’m Erin Lindsay, and you are…?”

“Mitch Wheeler,” he grinned at her as they clasped their hands together; she could feel his eyes on her. “I certainly lucked out in the partner department. When Spencer mentioned a Chicago cop, well, you aren’t exactly what came to mind. I figured they were going to stick with me with some middle-aged, beer-guzzling Cubs fan.”

“Well, I’m actually a Sox fan, so you’re safe there,” Erin laughed, hoping it would mask the flashes of watching baseball games with  _him_  that were playing through her mind—the first time her took her to a game, nights curled up on the couch together, the excitement on his face when she wore his hat. She did her best to shake those thoughts away and focus on the man standing in front of her.

They were interrupted by Wheeler’s cell phone ringing. As he sat at his desk to take the call, Erin surveyed him, trying to get a feel for this veritable stranger that she would be spending countless hours with, that she would be trusting with her life. He was probably about her age, maybe even a little younger. He was attractive in an all-American sort of way; he looked like the kind of guy who could make women of all ages swoon. And the way he carried himself? Well, Erin was pretty sure he  _knew_  all of these things about himself; he was definitely confident. All things considered, Wheeler actually reminded her a little bit of  _him_.

It dawned on her then, that this was real, that this was actually happening. She would no longer have  _him_  as her backup, on the job or anywhere else. In that moment, Erin couldn’t decide which was more difficult to think about, someone else having her back, or someone else having his. Sure, the guys were great—she would trust Atwater and Ruzek and O with her life, she  _had_ —they would undoubtedly keep him safe. But she felt a sinking feeling in her gut when she imagined it. Erin had had other partners before, and some small part of her knew that she would eventually have a new one. But she had foolishly thought that that would only happen when the ivory tower inevitably found out about their relationship and forced Voight to separate them.

Not because she was an idiot and fucked everything up.

“Lindsay!” Wheeler had ended his call and turned in Erin’s direction, grabbing his keys and shrugging into his jacket as he continued. “That was Spencer. We’ve got a lead she wants us to chase down; I’ll fill you in on the way.”

* * *

In addition to tracking known terrorists and supporting the efforts of other international agencies, the FBI’s Counterterrorism Division investigated countless threats. Spencer had them running all over the city meeting with operatives and informants to determine the credibility of various tips. Erin had thought that Intelligence hours were long, but working with the CTD was a whole new level of gruelling. Their days typically started before the sun came up, and often they remained at the office until late into the night.

Erin didn’t mind the long hours. They were exhausting, but she welcomed the escape, the distraction from her thoughts of her old life in Chicago. As hard as she tried to heed Hank’s advice and not look back, Erin found herself doing just that almost constantly. She longed to reach out and call  _him_. After a great day, after a hard day, it didn’t matter—it was a constant pull. But she stopped herself every time. She hadn’t heard from him since that night when she ignored his calls; clearly he was over it, over her. So Erin focused on work.

She and Wheeler had quickly fallen in sync; their superiors were impressed. They were comfortable together—they bantered like they’d known each other for years, and had somehow developed a sense of what the other was thinking. It was clear that they made a great team.

At the end of her first full week with the CTD, they’d somehow managed to finish up at a reasonable hour. Wheeler mentioned something about grabbing drinks to celebrate, and Erin had quickly agreed. The idea of spending a few extra hours alone in her sterile apartment wasn’t exactly appealing; she was lonely, missing  _him_  and the rest of her old unit. Besides, she had always loved capping off a shift at Molly’s, so this was the perfect opportunity to start those traditions with her new team in New York.

Erin stopped back to her apartment to change before meeting up with her colleagues. It was closing in on ten o’clock when she finally made it to the address Wheeler had texted her; she was still getting used to maneuvering through the chaos of New York City. The place was nothing like Molly’s, but Erin hadn’t expected it to be; it was more of a club than a pub. And like the rest of the city, it was shiny and glitzy and of course, Erin felt wildly out of place. She pushed through her discomfort and scanned the crowded room for familiar faces.

“Lindsay!”

Hearing her name, her gaze snapped in its general direction and landed on Wheeler sitting at a high table flirting with a cocktail waitress—alone.

“Lindsay, glad you could make it,” Wheeler greeted Erin with a smirk when she sank onto the stool opposite him. He nodded at the waitress, “So what’ll it be, beer, whiskey, vodka, fruity pink cocktail…? Pick your poison.”

“Um, whiskey please, neat.” After the waitress moved back toward the bar to fix their drinks, Erin spoke again, “Hey, uh, where’s everybody else?”

“Well, you know Spencer isn’t exactly one for going out, and it’s Kaufmann’s weekend with his kid. And I heard Yang and O’Neill got caught chasing a tip. But Morton’s coming.”

“Oh, okay, cool.” Erin suddenly felt uncomfortable. She wasn’t sure why, since she and Wheeler spent all day every day together. But being alone sharing drinks in a dimly lit club felt very, very different.

When the waitress returned with their order, Erin again shook off her discomfort. She was determined to build a solid partnership with Wheeler. Sure, they got on well on the clock, but she didn’t know anything about him. She wanted them to have that friendship and comradery outside of work too.

They tossed back a few, chatting briefly about their latest cases before moving on to the personal lives of their colleagues. After their third round, Morton still hadn’t shown up, and Erin was starting to feel a little tipsy. She had excused herself to use the washroom and spoke up when she slid back into her stool: “Hey, what happened to Morton? Shouldn’t he be here by now?”

“He actually just texted me; something came up, he had to bail.”

“Oh. Well, it’s getting late, I should probably head out,” Erin grabbed for her jacket and moved to stand.

“Come on Lindsay, one more round?”

“No thanks,” she picked up her purse and threw a few bills on the table. “It’s been a long week, I’m exhausted.”

“At least let me walk you out?” Erin raised her eyebrow and gave him a questioning look. “Okay, okay, I know you can handle yourself, I just figure we’re both leaving, both headed in the same direction, we might as well share a cab?” Erin reluctantly agreed; he was right, there was no reason to say no, as much as she wanted to.

As they stood in front of the club waiting for an available taxi to show up, Wheeler took a step closer to Erin. His hand moved to the small of her back and he leaned close, his breath hot in as he whispered in her ear, “So your place or mine?”

Erin was startled by his words, “What? I’m not—”

“Come on Lindsay, let’s stop playing games,” He moved even closer as he interrupted her. “We both knew where this was headed.” Wheeler’s hand moved lower onto her backside, his eyes were dark and a wicked smirk flashed across his face.

She snapped then, yanking her body away from his, her eyes filled with anger as she hissed at him: “Excuse me? That’s… that’s not what this was about; this was just two partners getting to know each other.”

His voice was almost menacing now, “I looked into you, asked around a bit—I know  _all_  about you and how you like to  _get to know_  your partner.”

Erin’s palm connected with Wheeler’s face in an instant. She stalked off before he had time to react to the slap. Tears burned in her eyes as she made her way toward the nearest subway station. She was seething with rage, at Wheeler, but also at herself. She’d been blinded by the initial similarities between Wheeler and  _him_ —similarities that were  _clearly_  misguided—and she had let her guard down as a result.

The moment she stepped back into her apartment she broke down; her back against the door as she fell to the floor, her body wracked with sobs. It was the first time she’d cried since that morning at Olivia’s. Erin hadn’t let herself feel anything for that entire week.

And she vowed then that after  _these_  tears, she wouldn’t let herself feel anything again.

* * *

Any intentions that Erin may have had to hole up in her apartment were dashed by an early morning call from Spencer. They had received a credible threat about a bomb set up in a building—all hands on deck.

Erin dressed quickly, grabbed a protein bar and a bottle of water, and dashed out the door. Spencer was waiting at the scene, quickly briefing her on the situation at hand. Half of the team was digging into the source of the call in an attempt to locate the suspect; Wheeler was waiting for Erin inside. They were responsible for coordinating with the bomb squad to clear the building and isolate the device.

The consummate professional, Erin greeted Wheeler as though nothing had happened between them the night before. She asked him for a status update, and he quickly filled her in: their team had located the device in an upstairs office and they were just waiting on a headcount check to ensure that the building’s occupants had been evacuated. The bomb squad was less than ten minutes out.

In those ten minutes everything changed.

Out of nowhere, an NYPD officer rushed over to Erin and Wheeler; they had received word that two of the building’s occupants were unaccounted for, likely still inside their apartment. “We should go in, do one last sweep,” Erin announced as she adjusted her vest.

“No, we need to hold out for the bomb squad,” Wheeler corrected. “It’s protocol.”

Erin glared at him. “Forget protocol, there are two people inside, we are responsible for their safety, we need to get them out of there,  _now_!” She darted into the building then, not giving her partner a chance to argue.

The elevator had been disabled— _fucking protocol_ —so Erin took the stairs two at a time. She wasn’t sure if she had ever moved faster in her life. But she had to save those people,  _she had to_. She burst through the doors into the hallway on the fourth floor, running toward the apartment in question.

Then everything went black.

* * *

When Erin opened her eyes they were met by an almost blinding light. She blinked a few times before turning her head to take in her surroundings. Everything was bright and white and still. She mustered up whatever strength she could find to pull herself up into a sitting position and take a closer look around.

She was in the hospital. Her head was throbbing and her left arm was in a sling; she could feel the weight of bandages on her abdomen. There was a breathing tube in her throat that prevented her from speaking. Erin ignored the panicked feeling rising in her as she strained to reach the call button.

A nurse rushed in right away, gently stroking Erin’s arm to try to calm her. “It’s okay honey, I need you to relax for just a minute. Dr. Richardson is on his way, and then we’ll get this thing out of you, okay love?” Erin nodded ever so slightly in agreement. The nurse gave her a warm smile; Erin noticed the kindness in her eyes—she reminded her of Camille.

The doctor entered the room moments later. He smiled with a quick hello, consulting Erin’s chart and quickly checking her vitals before continuing. “Miss Lindsay, glad to see you awake. I’m Dr. Richardson. We’re going to extubate you now. Your throat is going to be a little sore, but Nancy here has some water ready for you, okay?” The nurse—Nancy, apparently—smiled down at Erin again at the doctor’s explanation.

Erin coughed as the breathing tube was removed. She managed a grateful smile at Nancy when the older woman brought the straw to her lips. After a few sips Erin spoke, her voice even raspier than usual: “What… what happened?”

“You were caught in an explosion. A bomb went off in a building and you were very close to the blast area,” Dr. Richardson began. “In addition to superficial cuts and bruises, you sustained a concussion and a minor fracture in your arm.” He sighed, “Miss Lindsay there’s one other thing, there was some shrapnel lodged in your abdomen. The trauma was significant. We had to take you into surgery—”

Erin felt Nancy grasp hold of her right hand; she supposed the action was meant to calm her, but it only made Erin feel more nervous. “Okay? Oh no,  _please_ don’t tell me I won’t be able to go back to work.” Work was all she had now, she couldn’t lose that too.

Nancy gave Erin’s hand a gentle squeeze as Dr. Richardson continued, “As I said, the trauma was significant. We did everything we could, but unfortunately we were unable to save the baby.”

It was as though all of the oxygen had been sucked from the room.

“The… b-baby? What… what are you talking about?” Erin couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t think. She could barely process what she had just heard.

“I’m so very sorry Miss Lindsay. Were you not aware?” Dr. Richardson glanced down at the chart. “You were about ten weeks along.” Sensing that Erin needed some time alone to process this information, Nancy gave her hand one more squeeze before moving to follow Dr. Richardson from the room.

_Ten weeks._

Ten weeks ago they couldn’t keep their hands off of each other. Ten weeks ago they were happy. Ten weeks ago everything was different.

Subconsciously, Erin moved her right hand down to her abdomen, her palm resting over her now empty womb.  _How could she not have known?_

It had been difficult before, but in that moment it became  _impossible_  to heed Hank’s words; looking back was all Erin could do. She closed her eyes and thought about the last ten weeks. Watching him walk out the door, shooting that kid, losing her cool in the interrogation room, losing her badge, facing the disciplinary council, Bunny fucking things up as usual. Leaving everything in Chicago behind. New job, new place, new life. She had been so preoccupied with the chaos swirling around her, she hadn’t paid attention to anything else.

In hindsight, all the signs were there. She was late, but she had attributed it to stress—God knows she’d dealt with more than her fair share of it lately. She’d been nauseous, but had just assumed it was a manifestation of her heartbreak and the overwhelming pandemonium of her new life. She supposed she’d put on a few pounds too, but Erin had figured that was just her poor eating habits finally catching up to her.

But no, she had been pregnant. Pregnant with  _his_  baby. She had been carrying a piece of  _him_  with her all this time. And because she was an idiot, she lost it.

After a moment the reality of the situation sunk in, crashing into her like a freight train. Erin couldn’t contain her emotions; heartbreak and sadness and grief overwhelmed her. She curled into the fetal position and her body shuddered as she wept.

* * *

Erin spent the next eleven days in the hospital. She was pumped full of pain meds, which was the only reason she was able to get any sleep. It was a welcome escape; her waking hours were spent at war with herself. Her mind raced with thoughts of what might have been, what she had, what she’d lost, what she was supposed to do now.

Olivia came to sit with her for a few hours here and there—Erin pretended to be asleep for most of her visits. She couldn’t face her. She knew that Olivia would be sympathetic and compassionate, and Erin didn’t deserve any of it.

After hearing about her injuries from Olivia, Hank called every day. He had offered to jump on the next flight to come to New York to be there with her, but Erin begged him not to. She’d assured him that it wasn’t necessary, that she was okay. Nothing could have been further from the truth.

She didn’t tell him about the baby. She  _couldn’t_  tell him. She couldn’t tell anyone. Erin had made a lot of mistakes in her life, but nothing would ever compare to this. She had never felt so ashamed; she had never hated herself more.

The only person she had an actual conversation with was her boss. Agent Spencer had stopped by one morning to update Erin on the case and let her know that they’d caught the perpetrator a few blocks away from the blast site. There had only been a few other injuries in the explosion; the missing civilians had simply gone out of town on vacation without telling their neighbours.

That last piece of information absolutely gutted Erin. She had risked everything—she had  _lost_  everything—for nothing.

So she didn’t fight the drowsiness brought on by her medication, succumbing to sleep every chance she had, relishing the opportunity to slip away from the hurt of reality and into unconsciousness where she felt nothing.

* * *

After her release from the hospital, Erin was eager to get back to work. But Spencer had ordered her to stay home for at least another week. Home was the last place Erin wanted to be. Home wasn’t her cold, lonely apartment—home was Chicago, home was  _him_. But she knew could never go home again, especially now.

Dr. Richardson had prescribed Erin with some strong painkillers. Clearly her history of substance abuse had not been noted in her files. It made sense, really. Hank and Camille had taken care of her when she was fifteen, had helped to pull her out of it. And then Hank was there again when Nadia died. He didn’t want her mistakes to follow her around for the rest of her life, to mar her promising future.

No matter how hard she tried, Erin couldn’t escape it. So instead of listening to her head and tearing up her prescription, she marched over to the pharmacy and left clutching a bottle of oxycodone.

It was slow at first. Erin followed the dosage on the bottle, strictly taking it to combat the pain from her injuries.

But one pill became two. And then she wasn’t just trying to numb herself from the physical pain, but from her emotional pain as well.

Then two became three. And three became four. And five. And six. And then Erin was just trying to stop herself from feeling anything at all.

* * *

Aside from the occasional phone call with Hank, Erin had severed all ties with her life back in Chicago. At a time in her life where support was arguably what she needed most, she had never felt so alone. And it was killing her.

Somehow Erin had managed to pull herself together enough to show up to the office. Her team at the CTD was pleased to have her back, but their welcomes just made her long for her old team,  _her family_.

Her first week back had been rough. The fracture in her arm would be a detriment in the field, so Erin was more or less chained to her desk. Her days were spent filing paperwork and playing phone tag with other agencies. It was mindless busywork, none of which made an iota of a difference—she felt completely and utterly useless.

The only benefit to being stuck in the confines of the field office was how easy it was for Erin to sneak away from her desk. She dashed off to the bathroom to pop more pills throughout the day. She needed them to keep her mind off of everything.

The pills weren’t enough to quiet the storm raging inside of her when she was alone in her apartment at night. So Erin would drink. Heavily. She was pretty sure the kindly old man that ran the bodega by her apartment was starting to worry about her; she stumbled in almost every night to buy another bottle. She would drink until she passed out. Usually in her bed, but sometimes on the couch, and one morning she woke to find herself sprawled out on the floor of her kitchen.

While her first week back was rough, it moved quickly, likely because Erin was in a daze for most of it. It had been surprisingly easy for her to hide her downward spiral from her colleagues; aside from asking how she was feeling, none of them had noticed her acting out of the ordinary in any way.

In fact, when Friday rolled around a few of them even tried to convince her to join them for a late dinner. Erin politely declined, telling them she was exhausted from being back to work, that she just wanted to head home and turn in early. It was only a half-lie—she  _was_  exhausted. Exhausted from the physical pain caused by her injuries. Exhausted from pretending to be okay all day. Exhausted from battling the demons that were destroying her more and more by the second.

But Erin didn’t want to go back to her apartment. She didn’t want to turn in early. And she definitely didn’t want to be as alone as she felt.

So instead of going back to her apartment, she went to a seedy bar in a questionable part of the city.

Instead of turning in early, she downed shots until well after midnight.

And instead of being alone, she went home with a stranger.

* * *

Erin woke up in a strange man’s bed. The previous night’s events flashed through her mind like some kind of horrible home video as she looked around at the sketchy studio apartment that looked as dirty as she felt.

 _A guy at the bar had offered to buy her a drink. She had recognized that he was attractive—not her type, but attractive none the less. For a moment Erin wondered what her type even was, but in a flash she realized; she never really had a type, just_ him _. The darkness overwhelmed her in that moment. She convinced herself that she could never go back to him after all that she had done; he would never be able to forgive her._

_Erin had to force herself to move on. To move forward. To forget about her old life._

_But she knew it wouldn’t be easy. So she let the stranger buy her one shot, and then another. Before she knew it they were matching each other drink for drink until Erin couldn’t feel anything but his hand on her thigh and his lips on her neck._

_They stumbled into a cab and ended up at his place. Their clothes were off in a flash as they fell into bed; it was fast and wild. When they had finished and were sprawled on top of the rumpled sheets, he pulled a baggie off of his nightstand and offered Erin a bump. She hesitated for a split second before dipping her head down to do the line; it was the only way she could stop herself from looking back._

Suddenly Erin felt nauseous. She leapt from the bed and ran into the bathroom, barely making it in time to vomit into the toilet. She was completely disgusted with herself.

* * *

Within a few weeks, Erin’s physical wounds had healed enough for her to be medically cleared to go back out in the field. Her emotional wounds, on the other hand, were still festering. Erin’s medical clearance meant the end of her prescribed painkillers, forcing her to rely on the harder stuff to continue to numb herself.

She’d go through the motions every day at work, sneaking off to get a fix whenever she could steal a minute. This wasn’t new for Erin; her life was spiraling out of control, just like it did when she was a teenager, and again after Nadia’s death. It was her pattern, and she had developed an uncanny ability to mask her destructive behaviour.

One day, about a month after being cleared to return to the field, Erin and Wheeler got a call to meet up with a soldier on forced leave from Afghanistan. He’d been working as a communications specialist when his unit had infiltrated an enemy base camp. Unfortunately their intel was misguided—the base was rigged and his entire unit was killed in an ambush. The soldier was understandably shaken, but he was still determined to do whatever he could to assist in the capture of the leaders of the terror cell.

They were set to meet at a coffee shop in Brooklyn. Wheeler and Erin had been briefed by Spencer before heading out; she wanted to make sure they understood that the soldier was dealing with severe post-traumatic stress. They needed to tread lightly.

No briefing could ever have prepared Erin for that meeting.

Because she knew that soldier.

It was Mouse.

* * *

Aside from the matching looks of surprise they both wore, neither Mouse nor Erin let on that they knew each other. Their meeting was all business.

Wheeler asked most of the questions; Erin was still reeling from the shock of seeing Mouse again. She was relieved that he was okay—at least physically—but she couldn’t help but wonder if Mouse had been in touch with  _him_.

Mouse had recently been in contact with someone from the enemy side, a woman who was frightened for her well-being and the safety of her children. Somehow she got her hands on a copy of a transmission between some of the higher-ups within the group. That transmission, coupled with visual corroboration from the woman, would be enough to confirm the identity of the cell’s leader. Knowing his identity was the missing piece they needed to triangulate his location and bring him down.

When the meeting ended, Wheeler told Mouse they’d be in touch before heading up to the counter to pay the bill. Erin had felt his eyes on her throughout their conversation, and now that they were alone, she finally spoke.

“Mouse, are you… are you okay?” He just stared back at her, obviously overcome by his nerves and his demons. “Mouse?” He snapped out of his trance when she repeated his name, finally looking at her face. Erin gnawed on her bottom lip, working up the courage to continue. No matter how hard she tried to stop herself looking back, Erin longed for a connection to her old life—to  _him_. “I was just… do you maybe want to meet up later? To talk?”

Mouse nodded slowly. Before he could change his mind she jotted her address down on the back of her card and slid it across the table to him. She noticed Wheeler approaching the table again, and quickly added, “Tonight. Nine o’clock.”

* * *

Erin willed the rest of her day to pass quickly. When she had finally left the office at around eight, she rushed back to her apartment, only stopping quickly to pick up a six-pack of Mouse’s favourite beer and a bottle of whiskey for herself. Again she ignored the look of concern from the man running the bodega. She had just enough time to shower and quickly tidy up before hearing a sharp knock at exactly nine.

Erin opened the door to find Mouse standing awkwardly in the hall with his head down and his hands in his pockets. She managed a small smile before motioning for him to come inside.

She watched as Mouse tentatively removed his jacket and hung it on a hook by the door before untying his shoes and placing them neatly on the mat. He was methodical; his actions were clearly developed by years of military training. It was equally foreign and familiar to Erin: while she was admittedly not the tidiest, she recognized the behaviour— _he_  had been the exact same way.

He followed Erin into the living room. She poured herself a drink and handed Mouse a beer. When she curled up in the armchair, he settled awkwardly on her uncomfortable couch. Erin hadn’t been able to bring herself to find a replacement yet; just thinking about it reminded her of the last time she’d gone couch shopping. With  _him_.

They sat in silence for several minutes. Mouse was fiddling with the label on his beer, while Erin jostled the whiskey in her glass. It was as though they were both struggling to muster up the courage to say something.

Surprisingly it was Mouse who spoke first, his voice careful and quiet as ever: “Erin, what are you doing in New York? Where’s Jay?”

Hearing  _his_  name for the first time in months broke her resolve. The glass dropped from Erin’s hand; she was overcome with emotion, tears immediately running down her face. “Erin?” Mouse said her name again, anxiously wringing his hands. “What’s—?”

And then the words poured out of her. Erin told Mouse about everything that had happened back in Chicago since he’d left. She told him about Abby coming back to town. About Jay leaving the apartment. About Hank splitting them up. About that awful, awful case. About losing her badge and her job. About losing  _him_. Everything that Erin had been bottling up inside, burying deeper and deeper with every drink and every pill and every hit—it all came crashing to the surface and spilled from her lips as she cried.

Erin had been surprised to feel strong arms wrap around her shoulders. Mouse—panicky, nervous, socially-awkward Mouse—was hugging her. His actions immediately pulled her from her meltdown. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to lose it like that,” she sniffed, wiping the tears from her eyes and pulling herself out of Mouse’s embrace, clearly embarrassed at her behaviour.

“It’s okay,” Mouse shrugged before settling back into his seat on the couch.

“Can I ask you something?” He nodded, signalling for Erin to continue, “Why are  _you_  in New York? Why didn’t you go back to Chicago?”

“I couldn’t.” Mouse stated simply before falling silent again. He downed the last of his beer and popped open another one. “I couldn’t face Jay. I should have listened to him. He… he was right all along. It was a mistake to go back.” Mouse gulped down more of his beer, working up the nerve to explain himself further. And just as Erin had confessed her struggles to him, he opened up to her. He spoke more in that evening than Erin had ever heard him say in the years she knew him back in Chicago.

Mouse told her about the horrible things he had seen, things he’d forgotten about—or buried deep—since his first tours. He confessed that he’d been depressed, that he hadn’t been able to sleep at night. And he even told her that he had started popping pills again. Despite what he had told Jay that day almost a year before, he had  _not_  learned how to deal with it.

Listening to Mouse talk about his struggles, Erin realized something. This man had faced so much in his time overseas, and here he was sharing everything with her, reassuring  _her_. If this broken man could look his demons square in the eye and fight them, there was nothing stopping her from doing the same.

When he had finished talking, Erin finished the last sip of whiskey in her glass, took a deep breath, and spoke again. “There’s something else.” Mouse tipped his head to the side, the look in his eyes spurring her to go on. “I… uh… I was pregnant.” His face softened at her words, but Mouse didn’t say a word. “I didn’t know… and then… there was an accident and I was pregnant and…” Erin could feel the tears burning her eyes again, but she pressed forward. “I’m not anymore. I, uh, I lost it. It was an accident, but… it was still my fault. And I couldn’t handle it, I couldn’t think about what I’d done. And… I’ve been using again. Like before… like when—”

Mouse had been there then. He’d seen how Nadia’s death had affected Erin, how it had almost destroyed her. Truth be told he had wanted to help her then, but he just didn’t know how to. But this time he knew. He knew exactly what she needed. He knew exactly how she was struggling, exactly what those demons felt like. So Mouse did the only thing he could: he reached over and grasped hold of Erin’s quivering hand with his own.

They sat there like that for a while, neither speaking as they sat with their hands clasped together like a lifeline. While their hands shook on their own, they were steadier when they brought them together.

Erin understood then why  _he_  had always said that you could trust Mouse with your life. She didn’t realize when it had happened, but somehow she had decided to trust him with hers.

* * *

Over the weeks that followed, Erin and Mouse leaned on each other, forming what could only be described as their own two-person support group. They learned to share their struggles, using words to replace their vices.

Some days they didn’t talk much—Erin was back to her regular long hours, and Mouse had kept busy with his new job managing surveillance for a security company downtown. But they still tried to check in with each other. But other days they spent hours opening up, sharing things that they hadn’t told anyone else before. They were vulnerable, but they shared a mutual trust and respect that made it work somehow. Erin couldn’t help but wonder if things would have been different if she had opened up like this with  _him_. Maybe if she had let him in more, he would have done the same; they would have been stronger.

When Mouse mentioned that he had been staying in a motel, Erin quickly offered up her spare bedroom. He had hesitated at first, not wanting to be a burden to her, but she had assured him that the invitation wasn’t entirely selfless. Somehow Erin Lindsay—the woman who had thrived on her own for years until  _he_  came along—wanted, even needed to share her space.

In many ways, living with Mouse was a lot like living with  _him_. They’d sit on the couch—they had gone shopping for a new one when he moved in, he figured it was the least he could do—and watch Sox games together. Mouse would cook and Erin would do the dishes. He was tidy and she… wasn’t. They balanced each other out perfectly.

And while they had certainly connected through their shared demons, it was obvious that there was something else bringing Erin and Mouse together. They both missed  _him_. He was the most important person in both of their lives, but neither was willing or able to reach out to him. So they were each other’s best option, the closest replacement for the person they were both longing for.

* * *

As wonderful as it was to have a friend to lean on and share with, Erin needed more. Living with Mouse, talking to Hank, meeting Olivia for lunch—it was all wonderful and fulfilling. But it wasn’t enough to fill the void in her life.

So she reached out to Burgess. It started with just a few texts. The two women had grown quite close in their time working together at District 21; Erin had always sort of considered Burgess to be like a little sister.

At first, they kept it casual. Erin asked about how things were back in Chicago and how she liked working upstairs in Intelligence. Burgess was curious how New York was treating her, and was eager to share goofy stories about Atwater and Ruzek’s latest escapades.

After they’d been exchanging messages for what felt like forever (but in reality was probably only a couple of weeks), Erin finally worked up the courage to ask the one question she’d been wanting to since she had sent that very first text:

_How is he?_

It was several minutes before Burgess answered, almost as though she was trying to figure out what to say to such a question. Erin knew it wasn’t fair to put her in that position. But she needed to know. And it wasn’t like she could ask Hank. Burgess was her only option.

 _I’m having breakfast with him tomorrow_.

* * *

The next twenty-four hours were excruciating. Erin was on edge most of the day, equally excited and terrified to hear back from Burgess. Her phone never left her hand, and yet somehow its ringing still startled her. “Hey Kim,” Erin tried to sound breezy, but her voice shook, betraying her.

It was their first time actually talking on the phone, so it was almost strange to hear the familiar voice after so long. But Burgess sounded exactly the same, like her usual cheerful self on the other end of the line. “Hi Erin! How’s it going?”

“It’s been a hell of a day, but we’re finally closing up this case, thank goodness. It was a rough one.” Erin didn’t want to talk about work. There was only one thing on her mind at that moment. “So… how was your day?” It was the lamest possible segue.

Of course Burgess knew what she was getting at, Erin hadn’t exactly been subtle. So she proceeded to tell her about her conversation with Jay from earlier that day. Not everything though, because that wouldn’t be fair to him—he was her friend too. “He’s working through things, but… he’s going to be okay.”

Knowing that he was okay, that he was moving forward? She didn’t admit it then, but that meant everything to Erin. Because if he wasn’t happy then what was the point of it all?

While Erin had left Chicago to escape from the mess her life had become, she also did it to save him. To give him the opportunity to have everything he deserved, all of the good things she would hold him back from. Because she was bad news. But that wasn’t true. Being born into bad news didn’t mean she  _was_  bad news. If there was anything that Erin had learned about herself over the last few months, it was that she was strong. And she deserved everything good too.

Erin had promised Hank that she wouldn’t look back. But she needed to remember her old life. It was a part of her, and it always would be. Her old life shaped who she was; it gave her strength, showed her what love was, and taught her that she was a force to be reckoned with. Looking back was the most important thing.


End file.
